


winter, Sweetheart

by wilsonsnest



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brainwashing, Canon-Typical Violence, Dehumanization, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Happy Ending, Heavy Angst, Hurt Bucky Barnes, Hurt Sam Wilson, Hydra (Marvel), Illnesses, M/M, Medical Experimentation, Winter Soldier AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2020-05-18 18:04:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19339756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilsonsnest/pseuds/wilsonsnest
Summary: To know the Falcon’s identity feels surreal to Bucky. It means nothing. As far as Hydra was concerned, Sam Wilson was erased. He has only ever been The Falcon and to Bucky he’s always been Sweetheart.





	winter, Sweetheart

**Author's Note:**

> Un'beta'd, but hopefully better than its original state. 
> 
> If you read it on tumblr, I've cleaned some stuff up and rewritten very tiny sections just so they flow a little better. I also formatted it specifically pertaining to this fic. Theres also a surprise near the end as promised.
> 
> Enjoy!

 

**I**

It’s always the same whenever they bring him out of cryo. The Soldier gets this impatient rolling in his gut that is usually reserved for his pitiful back-up on missions where Hydra really can’t afford things to go wrong. He has to tamp it down here, bury it deep so that nothing shows on his face. He remains impassive in the wake of the commotion of them waking him from his deep sleep.

Sleep. He shouldn’t think of it that way. It's more like being shut off, like a power-line being snipped or a phone hanging up abruptly. It's startling, uncomfortable and cold.

He stands stock still, arms at his sides, face impassive as the smoke pours from the tube only a few feet in front of him. He isn’t sure whether its a blessing or a curse that they want him to be the first thing he sees when he awakens.

“Soldat, grab him.” One of the higher-ups orders, as the techs and doctors scramble out of the way.

He marches forward, just as the Falcon starts to fall, stumbling like a newborn calf just dropped from the womb. It was an apt description of how this went every time.

He catches the slightly smaller man, tries to maintain an impersonal facade, though his instinct tells him to wrap his arms around the other man. His skin his ice cold, prickly with goosebumps.He isn’t shivering though, his body is probably to use to this at this point. 

The techs gather, checking the metal casings grafted into the mans back. The Sldier will check again later, just because he knows they aren’t nearly as thorough as they should be. It's the wings that give The Falcon the most trouble when he gets pulled out of storage for a mission.

“You have 36 hours, Soldat.” The same higher-up who spoke to him earlier instructs, barely looking at the two of them. “Get him in working condition, and then we’ll have a mission briefing, Understood?”

He nods slightly, they don’t expect words from him which is a relief. He lets hisflesh arm squeeze The Falcon gently before he pushes him away to create distance. The other man stumbles a little, blinking owlishly before he steadies himself. It takes a moment before deep brown eyes lock on the Winter Soldier, sharp and inquisitive.

He internally grimaces, it's like this every time. From what hes gleamed, they spent so much timing grafting the wings, replacing his bones and generally fucking up The Falcon’s body that they didn’t want to mess around with his brain nearly as much as they had the Soldier’s. He has words, ones that can reset him and put him back on track. But there are things he needs to know, and they try not to mess with his head too often.

Falcon though. They’ll wipe Falcon as soon as he’s done helping with a mission. He’s another weapon in the Winter Soldier’s arsenal. 

Wordlessly, he raises his hand, uses to fingers to gesture and waits. It takes a moment, but something registers in the Falcon’s eyes and he follows along after The Soldier, unsteady like a spindly legged fawn.

It takes all of the Soldier’s restraint not to reach out and steady him.

 

______________________________________

 

He knows that Hydra monitors these little training exercises, though they like to set the illusion that they are letting their two biggest assets out on their own to re-familiarize with one another. Theres a tin shed, big enough for the both of them to hunker down in for one night. An open field, surrounded by tall trees. Beyond those trees, the Soldier knows there are fences, invisible, but highly dangerous.

Still, he feels more at ease when they aren’t surrounded by high-ranking officials and doctors calculating their every move. He’s learned that the process of wiping the Falcon isn’t 100 percent still, and he can bring him back little by little.

The first task though, is getting him stable - walking, running and flying. The slim, but powerful wings they have grafted to the man are a technological wonder. They fit inside two rectangle metal casings attached to his back. The scars are horrendous, worse than The Soldier’s arm considering the amount of skin and muscle they had to rearrange to make it work.

The Soldier watches as the other man stretches his arms toward the sky, going up on his tip toes for a brief second before wobbling and catching himself. He waits, arms folded over his chest as the Falcon begins his own curious rehabilitation of his body.

If the cold air bothers him, he certainly doesn’t act like it. He’s shirtless, wearing thin linen pants and no shoes. The Soldier frowns, his hair is buzzed short and his face is clean-shaven, they always do it before putting him into cryo. It makes something sick twist in his stomach, and his next kill always feels particularly vicious. He can’t articulate why it angers him, but it does. He likes when eventually his hair grows out a little, and he starts getting a mustache. 

Eventually, the casings on his back begin to slide open and closed, as the Falcon seems to realize he control those too. The wing cases are about 12 inches long, two inches wide and stick out from his back about three inches. They’re made from a light metal, but they’re strong to protect the delicate wires inside. His own arm is heavy, and after long bouts of downtime even he has to get used to the weight. It’s crucial that Falcon’s wings are light though.

As the Falcon begins to experiment with releasing his wings, the Soldier can’t help but stare in rapt attention. It's almost hauntingly beautiful, despite how many times he’s seen it before. When the wings finally all slot out, perfectly aligned their huge and almost overwhelming. His wingspan is impressive for such a small space, and their elegance, while not a priority is necessitated by how the have to be stored.

But it's not just the wings. There’s something that the Soldier craves more, it feeds an ache in his chest. A clawing hunger for something that he rarely experiences.

The Falcon moves his wings, a few times experimentally. Stumbles along, unsure and then begins a light jog. The first leap, he always looks surprised when his wings managed to hold him up. But then - oh - he relaxes what is happening and the Falcon soars.

The Soldier doesn’t have much of a concept of beauty anymore, but he knows that the empty space inside him fills up whenever he sees that first smile appear on the Falcon’s face. He watches, getting his fill for as long as he can before- 

He watches, eyes dimming as the Falcon suddenly seizes up, his face stricken and he falls to the ground. The Soldier waits for a minute before jogging over. The first time it happened he was alarmed, but now he knows to expect it. The Falcon sits up easily, he can take a hit with the best of them.

But his free time was up. Hydra only wants him in the air for so long when they aren’t on missions. On base, the Falcon’s programming only allows him ten minutes of airtime before pain sensors engage, and make him seize up. The Soldier won’t bother to explain, after a few tries he’ll figure it out. He doesn’t want to be the one take the light from his eyes so soon.

“Soldat?” The Falcon’s voice is rough with disuse. He rubs at his neck, and squints up at the sky as though it had somehow betrayed him. “Is there something wrong with me?”

The Soldier grimaces, he hates this question. Hates that he has to go through this every single time. “No.” He answers shortly. He helps the Falcon to his feet, gentle this time. The grainy cameras won’t be able to tell the difference. “And you don’t call me that.”

“No?” The Falcon tilts his head, surprise coloring his face. “What do I call you?”

“Winter.” He offers shortly, and then starts toward the tin shack, knowing the other will follow. There are some ragged blankets inside that he can use to warm him up, and he knows that the guards got lax once the _tools_ are safely stored away. 

“And what do you call me?” The question is always so charming. Somewhere in his head, the Falcon knows they have a different repertoire. If he could, the Soldier would smile.

Instead, he just looks over his shoulder, face stony and unmoved even as he answers. “Sweetheart.”

 

**II**

 

Alexander Pierce talks to the Soldier like he's a person and it shakes him to the core. Perhaps it's because everyone else gives him a wide berth, treats him like he's just another piece of equipment in the machine. They don’t speak to him except to give orders or hear mission reports and they certainly never ask if he wants a glass of milk.

He’s stock still, hidden mostly in the shadows of Pierce’s wealthy suburban home. The Falcon is standing behind him, a little antsy, not having quite perfected the Soldier’s rigid attention.

Pierce maintains a sort of gentlemanly disposition and gestures to another seat at the table. 

“You’re welcome to take a seat.” He smiles almost paternalistically, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Before the Falcon can move, the Soldier raises his flesh hand, a signal to stop. He doesn’t think that the Falcon would have taken Pierce up on the request, but it's important to establish the rules.

Hydra controls the Soldier. When the Falcon is awake, the Soldier takes care of him.

He hears a noise from outside the home and gives a pointed two-fingered signal. It’s likely nothing, but it’s an easy way to get the Falcon out of the room. He doesn’t like the way Pierce looks at him, cold but calculating, like he’s trying to figure something out. 

He looks like he wants to make a comment, but then clearly decides against whatever he was going to say. His face becomes very serious. “The time table has moved.”

He proceeds to lay out the terms of the mission. It’s always very informal when it's Pierce, its sets the Soldier’s teeth on edge and he has to work to keep the tension from his jaw. Two targets. 10 hours. He can handle that well enough.

His human hand twitches, theres a knock on the door and he watched as Pierce’s eyes slide toward the gun on the table. He knows the Falcon will take care of it if it’s a viable threat. They try the key, to no avail, the Falcon can hold it shut with the barest of effort. After more persistent knocking they leave, though the tension in the room only slightly decreases.

Pierce seems a little relieved, but in the way of a predator whose just a little too lazy to chase after the wounded prey five yards away from them. Any closer and they would have died.

When he turns to look at the Soldier again, he assumes that Pierce is just going to dismiss him. That’s fine with him, he and the Falcon have to come up with a plan and begin moving out. He also doesn’t have much time, once this mission is complete...

“Once you complete this, the world will be ineradicably changed.” Pierce says with conviction. “A lifetime of service deserves a reward.”

The Soldier’s hand curls tightly in his lap, Pierce’s tight smile is sharp like a sharks. At that moment, the Falcon walks back towards them, the warm lights at his back give him an almost angelic glow. He nods to the Soldier, but carefully makes sure not to look at Pierce. 

_Reward_. Pierce is giving him a pointed look and the Soldier feels his chest tighten just the slightest bit. When the missions are completed, the Falcon goes back into cryo until he is needed again. He’s barely had any time with him at all.

If he can complete this mission.

The Soldier looks over at Pierce, he wants to ask if that’s a promise. If he swears on his life. But fear keeps his tongue. In the end, he has no real control in this situation. He walks a knife’s edge of protecting both himself and the Falcon from anything else Hydra wants to do to ‘improve’ on them. Getting wiped again so soon will do neither of them favors.

If he can complete this mission.

Fury should have been difficult, but he wasn’t. He can take down two more easily. Then Hydra will have the World, and the Soldier will the Falcon. He’s earned it. His reward.

“10 hours.” Pierce says, and tips his glass to the Soldier before dismissing them both.

______________________________________

 

“So what’s the plan?” the Falcon asks easily, once they are far enough away from Pierce’s home.

It’s always fascinating to the Soldier how talkative his comrade is when they aren’t around Hydra techs. Theoretically, he shouldn’t remember to be afraid of them- but the Falcon is almost eerily quiet and compliant when in Hydra presence.It could be part of his programming, to recognize members of the organization and immediately become obedient, though the Soldier hates to think they have gotten that good and reconfiguring to the brain.

He thinks it may just be a holdover, something innate in the Falcon’s psychology from when they first brought him in that tells him he can’t trust them. It’s so deep that even Hydra can’t make it go away.

It suits the Soldier fine, if they don’t know how much of the Falcon’s personality is really left, they won’t work to try and take it away.

“Procedure as usual.” The Soldier answers, they’re down by the shipping docks. Their base of operations is an empty storage warehouse, dilapidated, but uninteresting enough to ward off urban explorers. “You track them. I kill them. Then I will need a pick-up.”

“No back-up?” The Falcon asks, though he isn’t look at the Soldier. He’s looking out past the water, fascinated by something. Even with his enhanced sight, the Soldier can see nothing out on the dark river. Falcon’s eyesight is much more enhanced than his own though, he can probably see things happening on the other side of the river.

“We will have back-up.” Though it’s not necessary or wanted in this scenario. Really, they’ll end up just getting in the way since he has the Falcon by his side. “I still need a pick-up.” He says pointedly.

The little hum Falcon lets out sounds almost amused to the Soldier. It’s a nice sound. The Falcon doesn’t really laugh, but he has a greater emotive range than the Soldier does. 

Suddenly the Falcon stops, turns toward the water, he stares and tilts his head, curious. “People on a boat. Medium yacht, a lot of lights.” He pauses for a moment, his mouth quirks upward on one side. “Loud music, it’s v _ery_ inconspicuous.” 

The Soldier listens and he can hear something ever so faintly. Likely, the Falcon hears it much clearer. For a moment he just stares at the other man, wondering what he’s thinking. Is his brain trying to remind him of his life before Hydra? A memory desperately shaking loose from the depths Hydra has buried it in his head? It’s a dangerous precedent to let him dwell on.

The Soldier takes the Falcon’s right hand in his own, squeezes gently. They're in the dark, and he knows that the Hydra agents at the hideout aren’t positioned this way. It’s one of the few safe spaces where he can be kind.

“We have a mission.” He reminds, quietly but firmly. The Falcon straightens, rigid and then nods. He’ll likely forget about the interruption soon enough. “We can share a protein bar over coordinate mapping.”

“A protein bar?” The lilt of his voice edges on teasing as he follows along side the Soldier, intertwining their fingers as though it were the most normal thing in the world. “I don’t think that’s normal mission protocol.”

The Soldier shrugs and carries on, the rusted shipping warehouse looms above them. “You deserve it, Sweetheart.”

 

**Interlude**

 

It was only when he pulled a knife on Captain America at 3am in the middle of a park that Riley realizes something _has_ to change. Luckily, the guys a saint and only twists Riley’s wrist hard enough that it’ll be sore for a few days, but won’t require a Doctor’s visit. Then after that _Steve Rogers_ , symbol of American freedom invites him out for burned coffee with a too bright diner and everything just falls apart.

It’s not that Riley avoids talking about Sam, it’s more that he avoids getting know people who he could talk about Sam with. The only person he regularly speaks with is Mama Wilson, every Sunday at 3:30pm when she gets out of church. She’ll tell him about the sermon, the latest gossip, how her grandkids are doing. They talk about Sam occasionally, but it’s not a constant. 

She does what good Moms do and always asks the important questions. Is he eating? Is he sleeping? Is he getting out of the house? It’s mostly for Riley’s sake, so that he can finally spill all the shit he’s been bottling up for the past week because talking to people suddenly got harder without his wingman by his side.

He stopped talking to his own parents when they came up to visit. Saw his shitty apartment and said _“This isn’t what Sam would want for you.”_

It’s been a while, so maybe they were right. But two months after the funeral probably wasn’t the best time to say it.

He tells most of this to Steve Rogers. And it should be weird talking to a stranger, but then again his whole life is currently plastered on thirty walls in the Smithsonian so Riley feels like it might be okay to share back. He’s a great listener, surprisingly funny and doesn’t push for anymore than Riley’s willing to give. He may be a superhero, but he’s also a vet and he’s lost people, more than most so he gets it.

Maybe going to those VA meetings wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

They don’t exchange numbers, or even a promise to talk again. But it does open up Riley’s eyes to the dark pit he’s dug himself into. He spends the next day vacuuming, washing dishes and doing his laundry. His place is old, and cheap and the paint on the walls is chipping. But at least it looks like someone lives there now.

He sees Steve one more time. He goes to the diner during normal hours and runs into the other man. They eat breakfast together, catch up and that’s it. Steve seems a little more open, talks about how he isn’t sure what he wants to do. Maybe the superhero business doesn’t have as many perks as people assume. Riley jokes that he’d make both the hottest and most qualified history teacher. Steve just smirks, his eyes filled with mirth and Riley thinks they might actually be friends.

He doesn’t run into Steve again and he just kind of figures, that was that. He’s been going to the VA, sitting in meetings though he isn’t quite up to talking about what happened yet. He’s thinking of seeing a therapist, maybe even taking some cooking lessons. He tells most of this to Mama Wilson and she almost cries on the phone, and she says she’s proud of him.

What she won’t be proud of is if he gets himself killed being a fugitive on the run with Captain America and his red-headed friend.

One minute their questioning a secret nazi operative sitting in the backseat of his car, and the next theres a metal hand punching through the roof and ripping the steering wheel out. Riley’s first thought is that even if he had insurance it wouldn’t cover this, and his second thought is that he may definitely be way in over his head.

The next thing he remembers, he’s groaning on the pavement, he’s pretty sure his entire left side is bruised and he might be bleeding. But he can hear the sounds of gunshots and panic in the distance and he forces himself up. For a split second, he considers turning and running. He isn’t trained for this, sure he knows how to fight, but he got into this to save people.

He looks up, sees the snipers and knows that Steve and Natasha are down there, fighting for their lives, badly outnumbered. He has to do something. Shrugging out of his torn flannel, he takes the knife out of his belt and makes a decision. He disarms the snipers on the bridge, and takes out a few on the ground below.

But then Steve is fighting a man dressed in all black kevlar who, if his eyes aren’t playing trick on him, _has a metal_ arm. He throws the gun to the side and looks back to wear his car had crashed, its a hike, but he figures this is the part where the superhero stuff comes in and a shotgun really isn’t going to cut it.

He starts to run toward the battered remains of his car, hoping that the wing pack hasn’t been destroyed in the process when suddenly bullets rain down from above, blocking him in his path. He skids to a halt and rolls to cover next to an abandoned black jeep crushed up against the side of the bridge.

He’s expecting a helicopter, maybe even someone in a parachute, but what he sees shakes him to his core.

It looks like someone has stolen his wing pack, and for a moment he fears that Hydra got to it. But it wouldn’t make sense for them to even know how to operate it. Against his better judgement, he moves so that he can get a better look. He realizes right away that they aren’t his wings. They are sleeker, and longer than Exo-7 ones. They have a nearly chrome silver finish with red accents. The man wearing them is dressed in all black, from the goggles and mask he wears down to the two guns he carries in each hand.

Riley is awestruck, he looks like some sort of horrible avenging angle, the sun’s rays outlining him like a burning halo.

There is _no way_ Riley can get past that by just running. For a moment, he’s sure he’s stuck when he remembers the two discs Natasha had slipped him. She said they can disrupt electrical flow for at least a few seconds, a good distraction tool.

There was no time like the present to test out the theory. Riley waits for a moment until he sees the winged man looking toward the action happening below him. He doesn’t hesitate the throw the disk at one of the wings, before taking off toward his car hoping to god it worked.

He only glances up to see the man startle and drop heavily, trying to keep his wing from seizing up. He isn’t even paying the slightest attention to Riley as he gets to his car and opens up the trunk. Sliding the harness on feels like coming home again, even if it's the second time he’s done it today. It was just like riding a bicycle and ten times as exhilarating.

He runs a few steps and then takes off, a little shaky at the start and then he’s soaring. From his vantage point, he can see Natasha has taken cover and Steve is still engaged with the metal-armed soldier. He waits for an opening and then sees it. Steve manages to create distance and Riley dives in, kicking the man from behind and soaring past Steve, ready to turn around and go back in for more.

But suddenly he hears gun fire at his back and he tucks in his wings to shield himself. Ducking out of the way, he turns to see the winged man diving straight for him, silver wings glinting in the sun. He doesn’t have time to react before he feels himself being slammed into the side of an overturned van. He screams as he feels claws digging into chest.

Whoever the man is, he is ridiculously strong and determined, even as Riley flails himself and his wings in an attempt to dislodge him. Desperately, he grabs at the man’s goggles, if he can get to his eyes, maybe he’ll loosen his grip.

With a desperate pull the goggles and mouth mask all tear off and fly to the side. Riley’s heart nearly stops in his chest as he stares into familiar brown eyes.

“S-Sam..” Riley’s voice cracks, eyes widening in confusion. 

The man - his partner, his best friend was holding him pinned against a van. The one he saw fall of the sky, whose Mom he had to hold up during the funeral as the preacher ended his sermon, who he had mourned every day for the last six years. 

But he was there, staring at him with a cold blank stare. Like he didn’t recognize Riley at all.

His lack of struggle seemed to cause Sam to hesitate momentarily and Riley threw a punch before scrambling away, retracting his wings back into his jetpack. He couldn’t stop staring, everything else seemed to fade out and there was only him and Sam.

The other man looked strangely small, dwarfed by the wings on his back. His face was clean-shaven, something he had always complained about when they were in training together. It had always made him look so young, and Riley teased him about never leaving him pretty boy phase.

“S-Sam...” He knew how broken his voice sounded, but he couldn’t help it. “Sam, it's me, Riley. C’mon, man..”

But Sam just stared at him, and then suddenly past him - like he was insignificant. Before Riley could say more, Sam took off, heading for him again but this time he just grabbed him by the shirt and dragged him to the center of the road, dropping him heavily near Steve. Riley’s legs barely held up his weight, and he watched as Sam landed gingerly next to the metal-armed man.

Steve looked just as lost as he did, and Riley finally tore his eyes away from Sam to see the face of the man who had torn out his steering wheel. _Holy shit_. It was unmistakable, as many times as he had seen that face in books, slideshows and tv specials. No wonder Steve looked like he had seen a ghost. 

Somehow there were two right in front of them.

Suddenly, there was sirens and black suvs began surrounding their position, more agents in black leapt out brandishing weapons. Orders to get on the ground barely registered on Riley’s radar as his body moved on autopilot.

Even as they cuffed him, he couldn’t help but stare at Sam and Barnes. They had seemingly forgotten anything else around them, only having eyes for one another. He swallowed thickly, watching as Barnes used his metal hand to tilt Sam’s chin back, looking at the bruise blossoming on his cheek from where Riley had hit him. It was almost tender, even with the blank look on his face.

As he was hauled away, he glanced over his shoulder and saw the moment when they lifted off and were gone.

 

**III**

 

_I fucked up._ The Soldier doesn’t panic, but he is beginning to recognize a situation gone sideways. The fight on the bridge was a mess, the plan collapsed - there were _three_ targets and their cover was completely blown. Hydra is going to have to do massive clean-up, and no one is ever pleased about that.

They’ve sat him in the chair, the techs and doctors already reconfiguring settings. He’s fucked up beyond anything he’s been trained for and it's completely his own fault. He lost his cool, the man on the bridge said something and its lodged in his brain, a scratch he can’t itch.

They’ve dragged the Falcon off somewhere, most likely to stick him back into cryo for who knew how long. His insides twist, this had been his one chance to keep the Falcon and he ruined it. He feels off-kilter, like things are unraveling faster than he can understand. Theres something pounding in his head, and he knows it isn’t Hydra. 

It’s whatever they are afraid of.

Pierce comes in, and the Soldier knows he’s pissed. He almost feels guilty on the end of that disappointed paternal look. But he knows Pierce better than to think it's any sort of genuine regret. 

“That man on the bridge,” He hears himself say. It feels like theres another him talking, soft and confused. His other half is trying to shut it down, stop the confessions from falling out of his mouth. He’ll find no sympathy here. “I knew him.”

Pierce quickly goes from angry to incensed, and then temperature in the room drops significantly. Any hold he had on the situation is gone, he’s fucked it up completely beyond repair. He barely notices when Pierce slaps. The orders come to wipe him, but he’s so focused on the battle that he can’t even consider being afraid. 

“Wait a minute.” Pierce stops the doctors just after they strap him down. The Soldier’s eyes focus on the older man, wondering if he’s suddenly had an uncharacteristic change of heart.

“Bring in The Falcon.” He gestures towards some agents and they hurry to comply.

For the first time, the Soldier wants to fight. He feels his muscles strain against the tight restraints as an alarm he hasn’t experienced in ages grips him. 

He’s seen every single time they’ve put the Falcon back on ice. They like having him there, it reinforces him as the Falcon’s primary handler. He’s always the first thing the Falcon sees before cryo and the first thing he sees when he comes out. As far as the Falcon knows, his Soldier is always in control.

He has no idea what his Sweetheart will do if he sees him like this.

Vaguely, the Soldier realizes he could probably break out of the chair, but he doesn’t. Hydra is all he has, and he’s messed this up badly enough. The last thing he needs is for them to decide the Falcon’s presence is a liability to him. He’s expendable in a way that the Soldier isn’t.

He swallows thickly, as the Falcon is led in, two armed agents by his side. His face his carefully blank, even when he looks over at the Soldier. 

Pierce goes over to him, a hand in his pocket and reaches out towards the Falcon’s face. Both the Soldier and the Falcon make a strangled noise and too late the Soldier’s realizes their mistake. 

Pierce backs away from the Falcon and smiles like a wolf. All teeth and bad intensions. “You failed your mission.” He holds up a single finger. “You’ll get one more chance.”

He turns back to the techs and waves for them to continue. “Wipe him.”

The Soldier desperately hopes for the Falcon not to make another noise, but he can’t take anymore. His teeth clench around the mouthguard and just before the chair leans back, he watches the Falcon jerk haltingly toward him. He can’t hold the facade any longer, the game is up and they’ve been caught.

_I’m so sorry, Sweetheart_. Is the last thing he thinks before he loses himself to the pain.

 

______________________________________

 

The mission is simple.

The helicarriers need to be launched, Captain America is trying to stop them.

And he has to stop Captain America.

There are no specific circumstances he needs to stage, collateral he needs to consider. It’s straightforward, easy enough to complete. It feels familiar, but he’s fairly certain its just the training simulations he’s run before this. They’d always figured a day would come when he needed to face an Avenger.

He walks out to helicopter pad. Everything must be happening fast if they plan on dropping him in like this. He’s expecting the agents on guard, but not the other stealth suited figure waiting on the landing pad.

The Falcon, _awake_.

He’s turned away from the Soldier, his arms at his sides and he tries to remember when he and the Falcon last worked with one another. (Singapore? Maybe?) Either way, it’s odd that the Falcon is out of cryo before him. It’s odd that he’s even on this mission, it isn’t complex enough for him to need that level of back-up.

The Falcon is dressed in his combat gear, all black, tight to prevent drag when he flies. He has his combat talon gloves on, though the sharp blades are locked away at the moment. From the back, he can see that his tactical goggles and mask are firmly in place - they’re expecting him to see combat.

The Soldier doesn’t like it. The Falcon is much better at reconnaissance than being an active participant. The last thing the Soldier needs is to worry about his partner getting killed in action when he is focused on a target.

“Sweetheart.” He murmurs low enough for the Falcon to hear him, though the sound of the chopper probably makes it impossible for anyone else to hear him anyway.

The Falcon turns his head slightly, his black tinted goggles reveal nothing. But theres a slight hesitance when he inclines his head in the Soldier’s direction. “Winter.”

That gives him momentary pause. Every other time he has had to remind the Falcon who he is. It’s an odd sensation, to be recognized immediately, but not exactly unwelcome. Still, they can deal with it later. They’ve a mission to complete.

The Soldier lets Falcon climb in first before getting in next to him. He can tell something is off about the situation, how tense the Falcon is around him and how odd the whole procedure of events has been.

He tucks it away though in the back of his head. Something he can work out later when they have time. After all, it seems they are trusting the Falcon to be his partner, not just his asset. If all goes well, maybe it can be on a more permanent basis.

 

**IV**

 

It’s all going to shit, but the Soldier is able to keep a single-minded focus on the task at hand with the agents and the Falcon covering his back. The first of the helicarriers has been breached, and his target has gotten the second. They have more back-up that initially planned for, and the blonde man with the wings is competent enough to get past the Hydra agents on the ground.

All the Soldier needs to do is stop Captain America from shutting down the last helicarrier and the mission is complete. He’s fairly confident he can take care of that. As he shoots one a Shield pilot he touches the comm on his ear.

“Sweetheart, take out the flying threat.” He instructs as he shoves the body out of the seat and takes control of the plane. He gets an affirmative reply and watches as the Falcon soars overhead, his wings casting long shadows over the landing strip. 

The other man has a wing-pack on, it looks fairly similar to the design of the Falcon’s wings, if a bit clunkier and less nimble. He’s good at flying with them though, as he takes off. 

The Falcon is better.

The Soldier heads off to the final carrier, confident that his partner has the other situation under control. 

He gets to the control panel first, just before Captain America arrives. From the moment they clash, his body tells him that he’s done this before. The movements are familiar, each counter nearly anticipated. Its frustrating, infuriating and slightly exhilarating. What he doesn’t expect is that the other man is somehow getting ahead of him, and in desperation he tackles him and sends them both off the control bridge.

Everything else seems to fade out as they fight. And for a brief moment, he forgets the mission, his instinct just to fight and fight until theres nothing else. It’s not until the code card skids by him that he reaches for it, but it leaves him too open. The Soldier is in disbelief, this _couldn’t_ be happening. He couldn’t fail this mission, _again_.

Something seems to snap in his head, the same time as his arm does. His vision goes black, he doesn’t expect such exquisite pain in that arm. It's the shock of it, more than the feel itself that puts him out of commission just long enough to see his enemy climbing up to the control panel again.

He has his gun, but it seems fruitless now. He tries, but the other man is stubborn. The Soldier can’t find his footing when the helicarrier suddenly began shaking, moaning with effort as it begins to fall apart around him. He doesn’t have time to get out of the way before a beam falls and pins him to the ship. 

_Sweetheart_. He hasn’t seen or heard anything from his partner, though he can’t bring himself to believe that some civilian off the street could bring him down. He uses his free arms to try and reach for his comm, but just as he is about to speak, he looks over, out into the sky where pieces of flaming metal are falling around him.

In the middle of it all, he sees him, a dark figure, smoking from onside, though not on fire. One of his wings is flailing desperately while the other is locked, unable to move. The Soldier’s eyes widen and he scrambles to try and move the beam on top of him.

_No, no, no._ The Falcon can’t be dead, he won’t be. But the Soldier has failed, Hydra’s great plan is in pieces around him and the Falcon is down. He knows they’ll see him as another tech casualty, disappointing but not a necessity. They’ll decommission him and throw him out like another experimental weapon that’s outlived its usefulness.

The Soldier won’t let that happen.

He’s so caught up in his thoughts, he doesn’t realize that he is being freed until the weight lifts off his chest. He scrambles out from underneath it, tucking his broken arm to his chest. There he is, his target. He is dressed like a fool, but his outerwear is diversion from his true strength.

The Soldier growls, low in his throat. His mission was to kill his target. He can still do that, then maybe...

“Bucky,” He’s out of breath, exhausted, but he’s still standing. It’s absolutely infuriating. “You’ve known me your whole life.”

His voice, it’s so desperately familiar, worming its way into the Soldier’s brain, searching for something kept hidden deep down inside. He squeezes his eyes shut for just a second, trying to ignore it. He has to finish this.

He swings at Captain America with his metal arm, nearly throwing himself off balance as the helicarriers continue to explode around them.

“You’re name,” The other man pants as he rises again. “is James Buchanan Barnes.”

The back of his head is starting to hurt, like something has dug their claws in and refused to let go. Pulling, and pulling away at the very fabric of his mind. It feels like when they wipe him, everything falling apart and piecing back together. 

“Shut up!” He hears himself scream over the blood rushing in his ears. He throws his weight into the next punch, he just needs to shut him up so that he can *think*.

But he won’t. Stay. Down.

The Soldier is alarmed, growing more desperate than he can ever remembering being. This was never part of his training, these words - these lies or even truths for all he can discern. He feels like he's drowning.

He’s straddling Captain America, even as they are falling from the sky. They’ll both die in a ball of fire and fury at this point. But if he can finish the mission...

He raises his arm back, just once more. 

“I’m with you, till the end of the line.”

The Soldier’s eyes widen and suddenly sees an overlay, a face thats familiar to the one in front of him, but different. Only he’s saying it, he can hear his voice, so different, so alive. Those words, _I’m with you till the end of the line, pal_. He catches the man’s eyes, he sees sadness, the sees pain, he sees - oh, _hope_.

“Steve.” He whispers and it gets lost in the keening of metal as the ship finally gives way.

The Soldier - Bucky? - No, the Soldier moves on instinct. He jumps after Captain America - Steve? Steve - and into the water. He doesn’t think he’ll drown, but theirs too much debris falling for him to be completely safe. He grabs him, drags him out of the river and onto the bank. Steve is breathing, he’s sure his team will come looking for him.

He hesitates for a moment, drinking in the sight of his face and feeling some sort of acceptance. He doesn’t understand it, but he knows there is something there. The thing Hydra tried to erase from his mind, Steve resides near the humanity of his heart, the last little bit that exists. The same place as the Falcon...

He sucks in a deep breath and stumbles away from Steve, his heart pounding in his chest. The Falcon went down, probably around here. He could have ended up in the water just like Steve, and he doesn’t know if he was in any condition to pull himself out.

He stumbles, half trotting around the perimeter of the tree line, teeth grinding together as he scans for any sign of him. Finally he comes to a stop in front of a path of downed trees, smoking from whatever impact hit them. He follows the path a few yards and he sees crumpled on the ground, a black suited body, one wing splayed out underneath him, the other crooked and sparking.

The Soldier runs to his side, and kneels down, immediately turning him onto his back so that he can assess the damage. A bullet clipped the top of his left wing casing, there are exposed wires and smoke coming from it. The metal of the casing is misshapen and scalded.

_He didn’t shoot to kill_. The blonde flyer had shot to down the Falcon, not kill him. Maybe when they were safe he would analyze that, but for now.

“Sweetheart,” He murmured quietly, rolling the man onto his side so that he could take off his goggles and mask. His normally warm toned skin looked ashen, and his eyes were closed tightly. “We need to move. Come on.”

He tried to put some edge in his voice, but his heart truly wasn’t in it. He felt emotionally drained, an unfamiliar feeling. He knew he was only keeping it together for the Falcon’s sake.

“You need to retract your wings.” He put a hand on the Falcon’s cheek. “Now.” He added the order, hoping his comrade’s desire to comply overrode the pain he was no doubt feeling.

“Hurts.” the Falcon finally muttered, through gritted teeth. He didn’t open his eyes, but slowly he retracted the thin blades of his wings. the Soldier had to reach over and give the left blade a shove so that it fit into the crushed part of the compartment, causing theFalcon to cry out in pain.

He gathered the other man to him, trying to sooth but knowing he was woefully out of practice. He patted the Falcon’s face, and then moved to his neck, petting where he could to try and comfort. The Falcon sagged against him, body shuddering with the effort to stay awake. In general, they both always felt some low-level of pain in their grafted limbs, but he always knew that the Falcon’s was somewhat worse off than his own. He’d always born it without complaint, even after long hours spans of flying where the metal wore on his muscles.

This had to be bad, and the Soldier didn’t have the tools to try and fix it here.

He helped the Falcon up, wrapping his arm around his waist. He’d carry him, but his other arm was currently out of commission. Grunting, he began to walk, keeping in pace with the Falcon until he could find his footing. 

What a pair they made. It seems that Hydra had truly lost all of its great weapons in one fell swoop, all thanks to Captain America. The Soldier would remember to be impressed once he got the Falcon to safety.

 

**V**

 

Theres a dull thrum in the back of Sam’s head as he slowly wakes up that sends a sick shudder down his spine. It reminds him of the headaches he would get when Hydra was still tearing apart his back and spine to graft metal parts into his bones and muscles. Neural pathways created where they should have never existed that thrummed with the ache of _wrong_ and _unnatural_. They had only kept him half-sedated, enough so that he was unable to move, but awake so that he could follow commands.

_Lift them. Now forwards, now back._

_Again._

_Again._

_Almost, not yet._

_There is still more to do. Stay still._

The sound of tools whirring to life became his signal to put his head down, squeeze his eyes shut and hold onto the metal table so tight that it left indents. He barely remembered the serum procedure, they did it gradually. He needed to be strong enough to survive having metal implanted into his body and weak enough to resist. 

It’s a miracle he even remembers that much. He supposes the pain was so great, it just imbedded himself in his memory so deep that no amount of electricity to the brain could change it.

Other details still elude him. Who he was before Hydra got to him ( _His name is Sam. He can’t forget that, he’s Sam. Who is Sam?_ ) . How he knew Winter ( _Always there. He helps, but he’s quiet, haunted. Who is Winter?_ ). What exactly their purpose was ( _The mission. Each mission had a target that had to die. To what end?_ ) . He vaguely understands that they are assassins, or at least Winter is an assassin. He is Winter’s back-up. The endgame? He hasn’t the slightest idea. Winter doesn’t talk much, and Hydra agents rarely had anything much to say to him.

He trusts Winter though, and thats enough for him.

Sam’s heart thumps loudly against his chest as memories begin to come back back to him. Winter fighting with Captain America. And he - he had been stopped by the other man with wings - shot down, falling, right. He fell - sudden, fast, like when Hydra would lock his wings and-

Sam groans, the headache seems to spread as everything rushes back. It’s odd, to wake up and still remember and he isn’t quite sure he likes it. He squints his eyes open, vision blurry at first then easily adjusted to the dark. He feels an arm tighten around his midsection, holding him close and he sighs. Theres only one person who would hold him like this. He looks up to see Winter, looking down at him. He looks wrecked, haunted even in a way that Sam’s never seen before. His hair is disheveled, dark bruise-like bags underneath his distant eyes.

Sam makes a soft sound, it grates against his throat but he wants to comfort him. He tries to move, but sparks of pain shoot up his spine and he winces. Right - he was shot in the wing, and however Hydra had brutalized his body, it wasn’t agreeing with the damage.

He settles again, taking a deep breath and grasping for something that he can hold onto. He curls his fingers into the rough cloth of Winter’s pants, noting that someone had taken off his combat gloves.

He feels them bumping along, and it reminds him a hazy memory of a time they once took a five hour train ride to a mission. They had sat in the dark, just like this, he and Winter on onside of the train car while these Hydra agents watched them from the other side, fingers twitching on their weapons and fear in their young faces. No one had moved or said a word the entire time.

The gaps in Sam’s memory are odd. He doesn’t really remember missions, those things are scrubbed thoroughly enough. But he sometimes remembers moments, pockets of meaningless time that don’t make much sense. But he does remember Winter, though less as a fully formed person and as the only thing he can trust. Part of the facade is making Hydra believe their wiping is working completely. He fears what they’ll do if it doesn’t.

It hurts Winter, he knows. Every time the Soldier has to re-introduce himself to the Falcon. He hears the desperate edge in his voice each time he comes out of cryo and they go the gray field and Sam learns his body again.

Winter is far too attached, and Sam hears the techs grumble about it when they hook him up to put him back to sleep. He knows that Pierce seems to find their relationship amusing, but no doubt there are some in Hydra who thinks they’d be better off used in separate capacities.

So he pretends that each time, it’s new, and prays that Winter doesn’t crack under the pressure.

He tries to protect Winter like Winter protects him.

“W-where…” Sam tries to speak, his throat is sore and his head still throbs. “Where are we?”

He suspects they are on their way to a Hydra base and he clings to Winter tighter. They’ve filed their mission for a second time. There will be consequences much worse than Winter being wiped.

Above him, he feels Winter let out a shuddering sigh. “France.” He answers simply. “In a truck.”

Ah, not a train then, but the roads are rough. Sam closes his eyes and tries to relax into the rhythm of Winter’s breathing. He figures if Winter is holding him like this, there are no prying eyes to hide their affection from.

“We failed.” Sam says quietly into the dark, managing to keep the tremor out of his voice. Dread creeps up in his belly, making him feel nauseous. 

“It doesn’t matter.” Winter sounds tired, so tired. Sam feels cool metal fingers caress his cheek and only just realizes how hot his body feels. His face feels tender, there is probably bruising from his fall. “Hydra’s gone.”

Sam stills, his breath catches in his throat. All he can hear is his hear thumping loudly against his chest. He’s heard what Winter said, but it doesn’t make any sense in his head. It was only one mission, how could they possibly-

“It’s all over the news, the internet.” Winter continues. “People have been arrested. Pierce is dead.”

Winter says this with a grim finality, though he sounds neither happy nor upset. He just sounds exhausted. Sam feels a spark of relief in his own chest, the man had always made him uncomfortable. The way he treated both of them. Winter like a child and the Falcon like Winter’s little pet. Hearing of his death is a rather nice thing to help take his mind off the pain.

“What now?” Sam asks, curious but cautious. If he didn’t know their purpose before, he knows it even less now. “Where will we go?”

“Germany, maybe. Norway, Romania.” Winter hasn’t the slightest clue either, though he’s trying to be strong for Sam’s sake. “We’ll find some place. And I’ll fix your wing.”

It’s a sweet sentiment, Sam thinks, but Winter doesn’t know the first thing about the make-up of the wings on Sam’s back. Part of the Falcon’s duty was making sure the Soldier’s arm was functioning at its best capacity. He thinks he could probably identify and fix problems with it in his sleep. Winter kept Sam out of the line of fire well enough, and he doubts Hydra would waste any of the Soldier’s training on fixing an expendable weapon like the Falcon.

With that, Sam reaches out, fumbling to grab at Winter’s metal arm. Even in the limited light, he’ll be able to feel any damage he might have taken. Places where there are issues have small separations, gaps and sometimes a spark that he can feel with the pads of his fingers. So far it feels normal, though theres a stiffness is Winter’s wrist he doesn’t like. He’ll have to take a closer look when theres more light.

“Are you okay?” Sam feels bold now knowing that Hydra is no longer the ghoul haunting there every interaction. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you.”

It was an odd thing, when he was fighting. Like there was something familiar about the man in the wing-pack, it had made him hesitate for a just moment. Enough to throw him off his target. He supposes it was just the surprise of seeing someone else flying around with wings, clunkier and less nimble than his own. He remembers the man shouting at him, pleading with him? Though he can’t remember what he said.

“I’m fine, I,” Winter hesitates. “He broke my arm. But it’s healed.”

Sam nods, that makes sense. They both have enhanced healing abilities and he knows that reasonably he should have shattered every bone in his body with that fall. But in the moment, he just has a headache. And his back hurts. And he’s quite tired.

“How long was I out?” His words are slightly slurred, and he closes his eyes. He realizes he doesn’t remember how they got into a truck in the French countryside at all.

“You have been in and out the last few days.” Winter says, and there might be an undercurrent of worry. It’s hard to say. He squeezes Sam suddenly, tightly and then releases him to a gentler hold. “Other than your wing, are you okay?”

“My head,” Sam says quietly, honestly. “It hurts a lot.”

Winters lets out a sharp breath and then rummages around in his vest. Sam hums lightly, feeling himself start to drift before he feels fingers press insistently against his lips. He takes the pills gratefully and swallows, too tired to wince as they go down his dry throat. He feels thirstier then usual and coughs once they go down.

“We’ll get out soon.” Winter soothes, surprisingly gentle. “We’ll take a break.”

Sam sighs, grateful and nods against Winter, his teeth grit together as the headache ebbs and wanes with every bump of the truck.

 

**VI**

 

He finally settles them in a Bucharest. Romania, he admits, probably isn’t the safest place for the both of them to hide out. But Sweetheart is getting worse, and he loses strength too quickly to make moving possible. The Solder - Bucky, now, he’s trying it out still. He tries to fix the Falcon’s wing as best as he can, but he’s no expert when it comes to cyber-bionic systems even if he was, the mess of Hydra’s experiments would have made his skills useless anyway. Neither of them really knows how the wings work exactly, and the best he can do is solder any wires that seem to go together and snip any ones that seem to be in the way.

Neither of them are keen to test the results of Bucky’s patch job and so Sweetheart’s wings stay tucked away and covered. He supposes it doesn’t matter anyway, their former “employers” are either dead and on the run. The Soldier and the Falcon are on their own now.

For a short time, things seem okay. Bucky accessed Hydra accounts that even most Hydra techs wouldn’t have a clue about. He’s able to buy them a shitty one room apartment with peeling wallpaper and a creaky wooden floor where the landlord asked zero questions except for cash payment.

He steals painkillers for them both, easier than buying illegally or legally. Both of their flesh bruises and wounds heal fairly quickly though, thanks to the bootleg serum Hydra had pumped them full of. Bucky is in good enough shape, but its the Falcon’s broken wings that are causing the problem. The strain of the pain has reached levels where Sweetheart mostly stays curled up in bed, sweating into the mattress and gritting his teeth in pain. It was running like an infection, but the wound was entirely technological.

The last time Bucky had taken a look, the Falcon had actually whimpered in pain. He didn’t try to touch his wings again after that. At this point, he would only make things worse. Bucky focuses on the things he can do for Sweetheart. He washes him, feeds him and starts hunting for someone who can fix this. He knows there has to be some cowardly Hydra doctor that ran off before everything came crashing down.

But the longer he searches, the worse Sweetheart gets. There are nights when neither of them sleeps. Sweetheart is in too much pain, on as many painkillers as his body can stand and Bucky stays by his side, almost hoping for someone to find them so he can take his anger out on someone.

He gets desperate and he drops a clue. One that only a particular person will recognize.

Bucky waits by the kitchen counter, the windows blacked out and a singular light on near him. Theres a gun stored in one of the kitchen drawers, close enough that he knows he has a 75% chance of getting to it before she can attack him. He stiffens, as the door opens and Natasha walks in, dressed in a tailored pantsuit hands weaponless. Bucky narrows his eyes, and can see the points where she’s hiding her supplies, probably more firepower than he has currently stored in this room.

But theres an uneasy truce here, and they respect one another enough to not greet each other with guns drawn. He’s shot her once before, but he’s also the one who taught her own to survive worse.

She closes the door behind her, but doesn’t lock it. “I was wondering who contacted me. The Winter Soldier,” She gives the civilian clothes he’s wearing a once-over. “or James Barnes.”

“Bucky.” He says tightly, only really sure of that for now. He moves in an arc around the room, careful to face her at all times. He doesn’t want to get too close, but he also wants to be near Sweetheart in case he has to haul him away to escape. The Police could already be on their way.

“I know someone who’d be happy to hear that.” She says softly, and its more genuine than he ever remembers hearing her speak. She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, no wire. “I can’t guarantee someone hasn’t tracked me here.”

Bucky nods, he knows that. He moves to kneel by the mattress Sweetheart is laying, finally asleep after a long night. His skin is ashen and clammy, sweet dappling his feverish forehead. Even asleep, he shakes. Bucky swallows and gestures toward him, not touching. “He needs help. I can’t… fix this.”

It’s hard to admit this weakness, but he fears the worst if he doesn’t get help. Natasha’s brow furrows, and she takes cautious step forward. She can tell how hard this is for him, how bad it must be if he’s willing to risk asking for help. Her eyes are unreadable, but theres no disgust or anger and Bucky is grateful for that. Natasha never met the Falcon, though their training overlapped at points. Hydra kept the Falcon isolated and even more secret than the Winter Soldier.

“I can call Stark.” Natasha offers quietly. She looks at Bucky now an shakes her head before he can protest. “It’s the only way he isn’t ending up in a jail cell or worse.”

“The Falcon,” The name tastes bitter on his tongue, but he’s never called him Sweetheart in front of anyone before. It would be like a betrayal to do it now. “Has never killed _anyone_.”

He knows this because he made sure of it. Natasha gives him a plaintive look and raises an eyebrow but Bucky only holds her gaze steady. Eventually she concedes and nods. “It gives us something to work with at least.” The tight spot in Bucky’s chest loosens just a little. 

“His name is Sam Wilson.” She adds, dipping her head toward Sweetheart. Bucky just stares at her blankly and she huffs a little. “His friend, Riley, the one whose car you destroyed? He was Sam’s partner in the Air Force. He thought he was dead. He’s looking for him,”

_Like Steve’s looking for you._ It goes unsaid, but hangs in the air between them.

Still, to know the Falcon’s identity feels surreal to Bucky. It means nothing. As far as Hydra was concerned, Sam Wilson was erased. He has only ever been The Falcon and to Bucky he’s always been Sweetheart. He doesn’t know if he likes how _Sam_ feels yet.

“Do you have a go-bag?” Natasha asks even though she already knows the answer. “As soon as I call this in to Stark, everyone is going to know. Including Steve.”

Bucky grimaces, but he knew that was coming. Even hearing his name makes his head hurt. He isn’t ready to face that yet, or else he would be going with them. He hates the idea of leaving Sweetheart, but can’t handle being around Steve or the rest of them. He glances at Sweetheart, shaking beneath the thin sheet and presses his lips together tightly. He’s never left him not knowing he’d be back. He has no idea when they’ll meet again and it terrifies him. His Sweetheart has been his responsibility for so long, how can he trust anyone else to look after him?

But then Sweetheart moans low in his sleep and rocks a little, trying to soothe his own pain. Bucky moves closer, presses his metal hand against his hot skin. Sweetheart settles and Bucky looks up at Natasha. “Don’t tell him.”

“I can’t lie to Steve anymore.” Natasha almost sounds apologetic, but he can tell shes telling the truth. “And he’s smarter than he looks, he’ll see right through me.”

Bucky ducks his head, but nods, he can appreciate her honesty at least. For a moment he rocks in place and out of the corner of his eye he sees Natasha look away. Grateful, he leans forward and presses his lips to Sweetheart’s temple. A promise that he would see him again. He moves quickly after that, he wouldn’t be surprised if the Avengers are already en route.

He lifts the floorboards to grab his backpack and heads towards the window. He stops and glances toward the Falcon and Natasha. He can’t hide his concern from Natasha though and she carefully moves closer to the mattress.

“I’ll stay with him.” She assures him. Theres a determination in her gaze that makes Bucky want to believe her. “Rileys told us a lot about Sam. He’s a good man. I won’t let anything happen to him.”

Bucky wouldn’t know anything about that, but he does know that the Falcon deserves the chance to be free from whatever Hydra did to him. The truth is, he only really trusts himself as far as Sweetheart goes, but his hands are tied in this instance. He’s kept his Sweetheart’s hands as clean of blood as possibly could and thats all he can really claim. With a final heavy sigh, he slips out and the window and disappears.

 

**VII**

 

“Just so we’re clear.” Tony says with his arms folded over his chest, looking quite skeptically at the sight in front of him. He doesn’t look at Riley, even as he addresses him. “We have one half toe co-dependent ex-assassins staying in our basement and that was _totally_ cool with everyone? Interesting that none of them are here to deal with this if he decides to return to his day-job.”

Riley glances at him, his mind still trying to wrap his head around what was happening enough that he wasn’t as offended as he should be. To be honest, Tony was probably the last person to be qualified to deal with this problem. Natasha, Steve, hell, probably even Clint knew more about Hydra’s whole deal than Tony Stark. But they were all pretty indisposed at the moment. Steve ran off to try and track Bucky, Natasha was still dealing with the fallout of Project Insight’s destruction.

Riley let out a long sigh before looking back at the make-shift room where Sam was currently staying. The storage room had been cleared of weapons, and converted into a holding room for their incoming guest. There was a bed,a light-switch that could be activated from inside or outside the room and sterile white walls. Other than the transparent blue field that let them see Sam, but Sam couldn’t see them. It probably wasn’t the most ethical thing in the world, but they were kind of rushed for time. Natasha had said the situation was pretty dire.

And it had been. Riley had been on the Quinjet when they arrived in Romania. Sam had passed out, and he looked practically on the verge of death. Trying to move him had resulted in him whimpering and curling into himself until they gave him a sedative and quickly loaded him up. Riley hadn’t been more than a foot away from Sam at any time until they got to Avenger’s Tower.

He had taken some time to collect himself, paced on his floor (Tony had insisted that he needed a floor), debated calling Mama Wilson, realized that was actually he _worst_ thing to do before Tony finally called him down to where Sam was.

Now the both of them are just observing, waiting for the other shoe to drop. It all seemed way too easy. Sam was lying on the bed, stiff as a board and staring up at the ceiling. If he sensed them, he didn’t acknowledge it, and if he was upset or confused he didn’t show it. To be honest, his behavior was frightening. Compliant in a way that seemed inhuman. At least the times they had fought, Sam had been _determined_ to kill him.

Riley hears Tony suck in air throw his teeth. He’s flustered, but Riley can tell he’s also concerned. While Stark hadn’t been involved in the Exo-7 Falcon project, Rhodes knew about it. And when Rhodes was concerned about something, Tony got concerned about something. It was sort of sweet.

“Nat said the Winter Soldier,” Riley can’t quite bring himself to call him Bucky or James or _whatever._ “left him on purpose.”

“Yes, and the purpose could be _homicide_ , but what do I know.” Tony mutters irritably. He reaches up to scratch is beard. “Just looking out for the health and safety of the two of us who actually stayed behind and oh, _the entire population of New York_ if he gets loose.”

Riley knows that Tony is just overreacting because he doesn’t know what else to do, but its starting to grate at his nerves. “I don’t think he’s really in much of a state to be a threat.”

"Oh yeah, he’s totally adorable and harmless.” Tony rolls his eyes. But then something softens in his gaze and his shoulders slump a little as they watch Sam. “Anyway. If I’m going to take a look at his damage, one of us has gotta get him talk. Wing-packs? Easy. This,” He whistles low. “I may have to brush up my cyber-bionic neurology.”

“Yeah, right.” Riley says, only half listening. “Can I talk to him?”

“I mean you can try.” Tony gestures toward the blue transparent field. He says Sam should just see another blank wall where they are, but theres really no way to tell just what enhancements he has. “Just walk on through, Birdman. You’re all bio-coded up.”

It’s a testament to how focused Riley is that he doesn’t even throw tony a look over the nickname. Maria Hill suggested the codename as a joke and now its made the rounds. He’ll worry about changing it before it gets to the press after he figures out how to get his best friend back.

He takes a deep breath, shifts nervously from one foot to the other before walking forward. He’s trying not to shake, trying to access the calm, laser-tight focus he had during missions. It’s not really working. He’s seen some shit in his time, but nothing like this. He almost freezes as a brief flash of memory appears in his mind. Sam, digging his claws into Riley’s chest, his face blank and void of recognition. 

He forces himself through the barrier and into the room before he can panic. Tries to remember the breathing exercises that his therapist showed him, takes a look at Sam’s face and immediately forgets. His heart is pounding against his chest, and it hurts to even look at him like this. He looks so similar to the day he fell, painfully young, though the bags under his eyes tell a different story.

He steps closer, purposely making his footsteps loud as to not alarm Sam. He readies himself for an attack, but it doesn’t come. In fact, Sam doesn’t even seem to register is presence at first. He waits for a moment, unsure and to his relief Sam makes the first move. The other man turns his head, looking back to be able to see Riley peripherally. His face is fixed impassively, but Riley can see the slightest twitching his eyes as he analyzes him. He feels like a bug under a magnifying glass, and despite Sam’s sickness, he’s the one who feels powerless.

“Hey, Sam.” Riley starts soft and gentle. He doesn’t like the dynamic of standing above Sam, and he slowly takes a knee. He’s sure Tony is probably freaking out, but putting Sam at ease is the most important thing right now. “You….” His mouth feels dry. “You don’t know me, do you?”

Sam’s face doesn’t move, and for a brief second their eyes lock until Sam’s gaze drifts away. Riley swallows, and he feels heat prickling the back of his neck. He isn’t sure what he wants to hear. If Sam does know him, it means he’s tried to kill him twice on purpose. He doesn’t know which possibility is worse.

When Sam says nothing, Riley finds himself overcome with emotion. Keeping it together is impossible, and his body shakes as tears begin to well up in his eyes. 

“Samuel Wilson,” The last time Riley’s said his name like that was the day they met. He isn’t crying, but its a sure thing soon. “Y’know, when I first heard your name I knew you’d be the most stuck-up, stickler for rules in the world. Then you introduced yourself, had this dumb smile and said ‘call me Sam’. You were so fucking nice, I was pretty sure you were doomed.”

It’s so fatalistic now, that Riley sort of hates his past self for even jokingly thinking it. He pauses, searching Sam’s face for any sign of recognition. He nearly chokes on his own gasp when Sam slowly sits up, turning to face Riley on the bed. His face hasn’t changed, but now he’s watching Riley with rapt attention.

“Turns out you were the best of us. You got into the program because you wanted to save people. The rest of us dummies just wanted to do something crazy.” He’s saying too much, but he’s hoping that a _nything_ will spark some recognition. He doesn’t care if he has to sit here and tell training stories for days if it means Sam remembers _something._ “The other six dropped out, but I knew I wanted to stay with your noble ass. Knew we’d do something great together, or at the very least I’d stop you from doing something stupid.” Tears are falling now, and he doesn’t care. “I did save your ass a few times, and you saved me. I just couldn’t… “

He takes a deep breath, he feels shattered and stripped bare. He wants to scream, he wants to run but Sam’s looking at him and it has to mean something. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

Sam tilts his head, very slowly, as if he is considering Riley for the first time. Theres a new light in his eyes, and he squints at him. His hands move from where they were at his side, and move to his lap, twitching like he wants to twist them together. Everything movement he makes is so careful, and calculating. 

Like he’s a machine _._

_No. It’s not that at all._

Like he’s afraid.

“Riley.” Sam says the word like it’s foreign, like his lips and tongue have never made those sounds before. Sadness turns to anger and it burns sourly in Riley’s stomach. “I used to have wings like yours. They,” He moves his hands apart. “Come off.”

“Yeah, Sammy, they could.” Riley whispers, his voice cracking slightly. He hasn’t quite seen the extent of the damage done to Sam’s back, but he knows it’s not pretty. “They weren’t anything like,” It takes him a second, the anger making him bite out. “Whatever those Hydra bastards did to you.”

Sam suddenly sits up straight, his hands curl into fists on his thighs. “The Falcon.” It’s almost a whisper, like he’s suddenly remembered something.

Riley’s brows knit together. “You remember the Exo-7 Falcon program..”

Sam cuts him off. “No, that’s what they did.” His eyes are very far away. But then he looks at Riley, his brown eyes no longer vacant, he looks haunted. “I am The Falcon. I need to be with The Soldier. I need to-“

He stops suddenly with a moan and brings a hand to his head. Riley scrambles over to him on his knees, no longer caring about the potential backlash of his sudden movements. He reaches out and puts a steadying hand on Sam’s knee, trying to soothe, trying to understand.

“I’m The Falcon.” Sam whispers, he grinds the heel of his palm into his forehead and leans forward. “No, I’m Sam.” Beads of sweat begin to appear on his forehead and he shakes his head. “I’m Sweethe-“

He slumps forward, and Riley catches him before he can slide off the bed. He pulls Sam into his lap, tremblings hand feeling his forehead. His eyes are tightly closed, and he starts to shake in Riley’s arms.

“Tony!” Riley calls out, and he finds he’s too upset to try and get them both up. He hears the soft hiss of the forcefield deactivating and hears Tony coming for them. He just holds onto Sam, and cries. He’s so much lighter in Riley’s arms than he should be.

______________________________________

 

“You caught up to me.” Bucky whispers it out to the water, doesn’t urn around to look at Steve. He’s known since he left Bucharest that the other man has been following him, and he’s known since the beginning of this week they’d end of meeting soon. Steve was giving him time to get his head together before approaching. Sweet sentiment, but misplaced if he thought it would take a few months to get this all back together. He’s only just convinced himself that calling himself Bucky actually feels okay.

He’s led them to a small abandoned dock near a fishing village in Spain. The sun is setting over the water, and it’s almost peaceful. He likes it here the best of all the places he’s been so far. Theres a small community Bucky has integrated himself into. The people here don’t ask questions. He speaks their language and buys plenty from the locals. One grandmother has been letting him stay in her barn in exchange for letting the cow and goats out in the morning.

That’s all over with now.

He takes a deep breath as he hears Steve get closer, stopping a few feet away. He wonders if it’s because Steve is nervous, or if he thinks Bucky is nervous. It could be some of both, really.

“I knew where you were the whole time, Buck.” Steve confesses quietly as if Bucky didn’t know that. “Just figured I’d give you some space.”

_But not too much._

“Following me to make sure I don’t kill anyone?” Bucky tries for lighthearted, but he just sounds tired. He’s sure he used to be better at making jokes.

“Natasha told me you don’t do that anymore.” Steve says, and of course that was all he needed. Bucky supposes she would know best. “I would have waited for you to come to me..” He trails off, uncertain.

Bucky frowns and considers that. Suddenly, a shiver runs down his spine and his breath catches in his throat. He turns to face Steve so quickly he has to catch himself. He carefully schools to his face to hide the growing panic he feels. Right, theres only one reason why Steve would come to him like this. “It’s Swe- Sam. What happened? Is he okay?” His questions are clipped, and he’s trying to hide the fear in his voice.

It’s obviously not working, as Steve raised his hands placatingly. He looks worried, but the heavy weariness of someone who delivers fatalistic news isn’t present. Bucky relaxes. Marginally.

“He’s in bad shape, Buck.” Steve admits, and lowers his hands. “Tony thinks he can help him, if he knows what he’s dealing with. “His face scrunches a little like he’s trying to remember something difficult. “Hydra did some crude work creating, uh, making his brain work with his wings. People wren’t meant to have wings, so they just,” Steve winces as he continues. “Hot-wired his brain essentially.”

Bucky’s jaw clenches and his hands curl into fists at his side. Of course, giving something a prosthetic arm was one thing, but they gave Sam something he was never meant to have. He remembers Sam stumbling in the field like a baby bird, each time because of course his brain didn’t know what to do with itself. He wonders how many people’s brains they took apart before they could get it to stay.

“If we can find the plans, _any_ plans. Any information at all about how they did it. Tony can help Sam.” Steve sounds so sure and determined. It tickles something familiar in the back of Bucky’s brain that he quickly files away. Theres no time for that when Sweetheart needs him.

“I know where they are.” Bucky says as he walks toward Steve. “I’ll get them for you.”

“Wait!” Steve grasps Bucky’s shoulder before he can pass. Steve lets him go before Bucky can grab him and throw him to the ground. Instead the ex-assassin raises his fists, a hard glint in his eye. “Sorry, Bucky, sorry. I just.. I’ll go with you. I don’t want you to go alone.”

Bucky’s lip curls into sneer. “Afraid I’ll revert back?”

“No.” Steve says patiently, his eyes are wide and imploring. So fucking honest. “No, I don’t want you seeing anything that might upset you and have to go through it alone. I want to help you and I want to help Sam.”

Bucky stares at him for a long time. Steve’s blue eyes are earnest and steady. Bucky recognizes that he can’t trust him, not really, but he kind of wants to. At least this gives him a direction, a task. He can figure the rest out later. Besides. “Fine. I know you’ll just show up there anyway.” He rolls his eyes and stalks off. “Let’s go.”

 

**VIII**

 

Bucky knows that Steve is perturbed by his seeming lack of interest in talking about the history between them. During the mission to retrieve the Falcon’s files, Steve made every attempt to coax information about his time with Hydra out of him. Bucky shuts him down at every turn, and he’s too concerned about Sweetheart’s well-being to really care. He can tell it hurts Steve, his earnest blue eyes dimming with every prolonged silence or sharp word Bucky throws his way.

Objectively, he realizes the cruelty in his actions towards Steve. Theres a place in the back of his mind, where the jumbled remains of what Hydra tried to erase is clawing to get out. But he ignores it in favor of the mission. He can’t blame Steve for wanting to monopolize Bucky’s time, but he also isn’t in a place to cater to it either. He’s still getting used to the whole ‘expressing emotions’ bit that comes with being a human with your own free will.

He feels so off-kilter, like he wants to crawl out of his skin. It’s been a long time since he’s had to truly _think_ for himself. Hydra had never succeeded in completely erasing his emotions, their neuroscience had never quite gotten that far. But they made up for it in their ability to instill the fear of failure in him so that hiding his emotions became a necessity. Now, suddenly and almost anti-climatically he was free from that and he had no idea what he should be doing about it. At over 90 years old, he suddenly feels like how he must have as a teenager. Emotions swinging from one extreme to the other, little things send him into a panic or threaten to shut him down entirely. His ability to multitask feels practically non-existent unless he has a task to focus on.

Right now, Sam’s well-being is his task and Steve will just have to forgive him if thats what he prioritizes.

Finding the files is easy enough, and Steve is able to send them over to Stark instantly. Bucky keeps it together enough to help Steve burn the Hydra facility to the ground. He has to take a long walk after that, and Steve is kind enough to follow him at 100 yards behind.

Steve is tentative when he asks Bucky to go to Avenger’s Tower with him, and seems surprised when Bucky answers affirmative immediately. But Bucky isn’t going to pass up a chance to get access to Sweetheart and make sure he’s being treated well.

Steve warns him that Stark, Dr. Banner and _Riley Thompson_ will be at the tower as well. All of them have been working to help Sa- _Sweetheart_ in his recovery. Strangely enough, it’s Riley that puts Bucky on edge. _Riley_ is the one who knows Sam. _Riley_ is the one who shot him anyway. Maybe his distrust isn’t so unearned after all.

Steve tells him that the surgery was a success, Sweetheart is doing much better than before. Bucky is only slightly relieved, he won’t believe it until he sees it with his own two eyes. He could barely trust the Hydra techs who had put Sam’s wings together, so forgive him if he doesn’t trust these people who hadn’t the slightest clue what they were dealing with.

Of course it’s Riley who greets them at the door, and immediately Bucky is on edge. He slinks in behind Steve, fists clenched and immediately scanning for easy exit points. It doesn’t escape him that this could be a trap. The government isn’t likely to be happy that the world’s mightiest heroes are playing nice with two ex-Hydra assets.

The tower isn’t anything like Bucky expects it to be. It’s not at all like a military base, or even an office or state building. It’s lavish, but in a comfortable and homey way that makes his skin prickle uncomfortably. He thinks of the easier missions, where all he had was a scope, a silencer and his target in sight, eating dinner in their living room unaware their life was moments from ending. He’s done it so many times, the victims all blend together.

He fears where they’ve stuck Sweetheart. Half-expecting it to be a cage or some other containment unit where they can stare at him like he’s a lab experiment. Bucky’s glowers at the thought, and he hopes Steve understands that the slightest sign of mistreatment will see him breaking Sam out of here and killing anyone who gets in his way.

When they do reach the elevator, he’s surprised to see them go up. Each floor is labeled, a few are general like _Gym, Lab, Other Lab, Conference Room._ But then there are names, _Tony, Steve, Natasha, Bruce, Thor, Clint_ and to Bucky’s annoyance, _Riley._ They go past those floors though, until they stop and the Elevator doors open onto a cozy looking apartment. The carpet is a soft, calming blue and the walls are creamy-tan, purposely _not white._ The room’s lighting is comfortably dim to accommodate sensitive eyesight. Theres a couch, a coffee table and a television and two doors that must lead to other rooms.

Riley and Steve step out and Bucky follows more slowly. He doesn’t think he’s been in a room with a carpet without killing someone is the last 70 years. They don’t have to wait long before one of the doors opens and Sam steps out, alert and slightly wary. He looks at them all as if he’s analyzing a threat, and it reminds Bucky of when Sam would come out of cryo.

“Winter?” Sweetheart’s voice sounds only vaguely awed as he takes a step into the room. He’s barefoot, wearing gray lounge pants, a long-sleeved blue shirt and over-ear headphones around his neck

Bucky swallows thickly, he can’t help but stare. Sweetheart looks _good_ , safe and comfortable. He’s even got stubble growing, and some part of Bucky’ brain distantly tells him now would be an appropriate time to cry. He doesn’t, but he drinks in the sight of his partner and lavishes in how bright and well he looks. His palm feels oddly sweaty though, in a way it never has before when they’ve faced one another after a long time.

This is completely different from the Falcon waking up from cryo.

Sweetheart stares at him for a moment longer before walking toward him, his pace measured and precise. Steve and Riley move out of the way, apparently aware that Sam isn’t about to stop for them. He stops half a foot in front of Bucky, and he looks….uncertain.

Bucky’s flesh hand lifts for a second, and then he realizes he’s reaching out and he stops, unsure. Sweetheart’s face betrays nothing except that a vague wariness in his brown eyes. It’s reminiscent of the careful blank stare Sweetheart would have whenever he came out of cryo. For a moment, Bucky wonders if Stark and Dr. Banner had to wipe him again to fix whatever the damage was.

But he sees something, Sweetheart shifts from one foot to another, a nervous tick he would have never expressed in Hydra’s presence. While the rest of his face betrays nothing, his eyes are clear with recognition.

_Oh._

That’s right, they’ve never done this in front of people before. Bucky reminds himself that Steve and Riley aren’t Hydra, and even if they don’t approve, Bucky is fairly certain he can take them. He does’t consider things much further than that before reaching out and pulling Sam to him, arms wrapping around him tightly in a way that he never allowed himself before. All the morsels of affection he had given Sam had always been in dark corners, hidden from prying eyes that might see it as a weakness. But now they no longer have a reason to hide. 

No one was going to take Sam away and wipe him because Bucky wanted to hold him.

He finds himself burying his face into Sam’s neck, breathing in his scent. Sam’s fingers grip almost painfully into his back, but Bucky could care less. They hold each other too tight, and it feels good, it feels grounded. They don’t let go for a long time, they just stand there and exist with one another.

Somehow they had made it.

Eventually, shakily, Bucky pushes Sam away, not far only enough so that he can see his face. The color is back in his face, he looks rested, well-fed and seeing the hairs on his chin make Bucky’s stomach flip in a good way. Sam is _smiling_ and for a moment Bucky thinks he actually could cry. They’ve been taking good care of him here, and Bucky feels like he owes Steve a little more leeway now. Later.

He grips Sam’s shoulder gently and tries to turn him, he needs to see his wings and make sure they really are alright. But before he can, Sam stops him, refusing to move and Bucky looks at him confused. It may be the first time Sam’s ever refused a check-up from him.

Sam is gentle though, and places a hand on Bucky’s metal arm. Theres the smallest crease between his brows. “I’m fine,Winter. I _do_ need to look at your arm though.”

Bucky blinks slowly, surprised. He hasn’t thought twice about his arm since Sweetheart became ill. It’s been working fine. Theres a bit of a stick in the rotation and his wrist and shoulder and the plates between his elbow and upper arm aren’t as tight as usual. But he’s used to overcompensating for shoddy Hydra craftsmanship when Sweetheart isn’t around.

“You’re movements are 15% slower than usual,” Sam mumbled slowly, eyes analyzing damage just from visual cues. “And it’s hanging about 5 centimeters lower thanit should be.” He frowns and then looks up, brown eyes wide and imploring. “Let me help you, Winter?”

Bucky’s heart feels tight in his chest. This doesn’t have to be Sam’s job anymore. Theres no Hydra to constantly asses his usefulness in the field, and if he wanted to he could just tell Bucky to take it to Stark to fix. But Sam wants to help him, asked him even. Bucky can’t even begin to explain how relieved he feels.

His spine stiffens as he hears someone clear their throat behind him. He had gotten so distracted he nearly forgot that Riley and Steve were still in the room. Watching every single move they made.

It makes the hairs on the back of Bucky’s neck stand up and he carefully pulls his arm from Sweetheart’s grasp. He turns to face the two of them, carefully angling himself between the two of them and Sweetheart. Right, this could still be a set-up, a trap. And he was so desperately happy to see Sam that he let his guard down before it was safe. 

“What do you want for this?” He asks coldly. He and Sweetheart may still be considered weapons, the people they had been long dead to the rest of the world. An asset can still be an asset, just in different hands.

“Want for…?” Steve questions, sounding legitimately confused. His face is so honest and open it almost hurts to look at him. “Bucky, we just want to help the both of you.”

“And then what?” Bucky’s tone dips impatiently. He feels Sweetheart touch his arm gently with the tips of his fingers, calming.

“I..don’t know?” It seems to dawn on Steve that he hadn’t even thought beyond that. “Whatever you want, I guess? You could do anything. You can raise chickens for all I care. As long as you’re safe.”

“Sam’s got a whole family that’ll be happy as hell to see him.” Riley speaks up, voice wavering with emotion. “I haven’t told them, yet. But Sammy, you’ve got a bunch of people who’re gonna be so happy to see you.”

Bucky hears Sweetheart let out a small uncertain noise behind him and he stiffens immediately. He hadn’t even considered the fact that Sam would have family on the outside world. Bucky’s eyes narrow on Riley, the other man’s green eyes are bright and watery, focused on Sam. It sets Bucky’s teeth on edge. He’s soft and plays unassuming, but he’s too smart to be harmless. He knows things about Sam that Bucky doesn’t and Bucky doesn’t like that.

Silence falls between all four of them, before Steve is the one to heave a sigh and hold up his hands in surrender.

“We don’t need to figure this out now.” He says placatingly. “Why don’t we give you some privacy. We’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

Bucky snorts at the cute way Steve says that they’ll be checking on them again tonight. Riley looks like he wants to protest, but Steve goes to him and puts a comforting hand on his shoulder. He leads the shorter man to the elevator without a word.

Then its just the two of them in the room. Bucky turns around to face Sam again. He looks, conflicted, brown eyes seemingly desperately drink in Bucky’s face. His mouth on the edge of smiling or frowning, and maybe he’ll be the one to cry first.

Bucky sighs and gently cups Sweetheart’s face in both his palms, thumbs running over his warm cheeks. Bucky is sure he’s always thought Sweetheart looked lovely, but he’s finally in a place where its safe enough to let himself acknowledge it. He leans in close and touches his forehead to Sweetheart’s. He feels like he could stay like this forever.

“You’re okay? Really?” Bucky needs to be sure. He needs to know that he’s done the right thing. That they’ve faced hell and somehow come out on the other side. 

“I am. Really.” Sam answers honestly, and he smiles, small and warm and just for Bucky. “Thanks.”

Bucky hums an answer, not quite trusting himself to say anything yet. He put everything into keeping Sam alive, it still doesn’t feel quite real yet. He feels Sam move, and lets out a the slightest whimper, surprising himself. Sam lets out a soothing sound and doesn’t move way, but carefully brings a hand up to rest over Bucky’s metal one, pressing him close.

“You’ve done so much, Winter. We can rest.” Sam looks into his eyes. “Let me help you.”

Bucky nods, the slightest bit and he can see the smile reach Sam’s brown eyes, lighting them up like he’s just given him a great gift. “Yes.” He sighs, content and closes his eyes. “Yes.”

 

**Epilogue**

 

Bucky drummed his fingers idly on the table, trying and failing to hide the worry that grew in the pit of his stomach whenever he was away from Sam for too long. He’s only half paying attention the holographic chess set in front of him as he waits for JARVIS to take his turn. Luckily, the AI - who is terrifyingly perceptive - seems to understand the lack of urgency in their game. It’s more of distraction technique than anything, the only activity that keeps him from going into a full blown panic attack when Sam leaves the Tower.

After Sam and Bucky’s reunion at the Tower, things had to be discussed and decided. With Shield no longer in existence to be a barrier between the the two ex-assassins and the government, it was decided that for the moment it would be easier (and more fun in Nat’s opinion) to leave false clues that the two were still out wandering the world. It would keep some of the more gullible institutions off their trail for now.

Then came the question of where they would live. Sam was comfortable in one of the highest apartments in the Tower. Even with his wings fixed, he had yet to fly again but seemed happiest from a vantage point. Bucky had taken more convincing, but at the end of the day, wherever Sam went was where Bucky would go. 

So they stayed, and for the first month or so everyone gave them space. Steve kept busy by being the one keeping Riley busy. The two tried their best not to drop in too unexpectedly, though there were times when their enthusiasm came off as forced and Sam and Bucky had little patience for their interloping. 

It became very clear that their codependence was becoming a hindrance to any healthy mental progress they should be making though. And there were solutions tentatively proposed. Riley suggested separate rooms. Then Steve quickly suggested therapy first before Bucky did something both he and Riley would regret. Bucky agreed to therapy if he and Sam went together and it was more his fear of letting Sam out of his sight than anything else. It took quite a few sessions before he deigned to contribute anything to the conversations himself.

Despite his initial misgivings, Bucky found himself in a routine that he would work with and even enjoy. It was hard, at first. The therapist suggested they start trying to get out of their home. Even if it was just a walk around the block. Bucky didn’t think he’d be scared, but he had refused to let go of Sam’s hand the entire time, having nearly soaked through his clothes with sweat he had been so nervous. Somehow his Sweetheart had become his rock in the storm as he navigated the waters of freedom that he hadn’t known in 70 years. 

Memories came back to Bucky more easily, while confidence imbued itself in Sam.

The first time Riley took Sam out alone, Bucky did have a panic attack. He locked himself in their bathroom, his mind racing with plans for how he would whisk them away to a different continent where no one would ever try to separate them again. Sam came back and they didn’t leave the Tower for another two weeks.

But things did get better, little by little. Their therapist convinced them to try again, the codependency would only get worse the more normalized it became. Steve and Natasha coaxed Bucky out one evening while Sam was off tinkering with Tony in his lab. The two of them had bonded over Stark’s various projects and “toys” as he called them. Being around so much tech and machinery made Bucky uncomfortable and it was one of the few times he was actually okay with _not_ following Sam. Him, Steve and Natasha loitered outside the tower at night, eating ice cream sandwiches and donning baseball caps which probably made them stick out more than do anything to look less suspicious.

It was nice. And he knew Sam was safe with Stark.

Something about Sam leaving him still put him on edge. But after a while even he realized how patronizing it was to insist that he accompany Sam out at all times. They had tried several ways to distract him before chess with JARVIS ended up being the solution. TV could never really hold his attention, music tended to just make him think of Sam more. But trying to beat JARVIS? That could at least half-occupy his mind.

_“Shall I put our game on hold, Sergeant Barnes?”_

JARVIS’s ever patient voice drew Bucky from his thoughts. He looks at the chessboard blankly, seeing that it was in fact his turn. He must have zoned out pretty badly and JARVIS was far too polite to interrupt. He sighs and runs his flesh hand through his hair for a moment, eyeing the board. Calculating the next few likely moves, he sees another loss to add to his tally.

_“I believe Mr. Thompson and Mr. Wilson are on their way up now.”_

Bucky sits up straighter at that, and mumbles a “Sure, thanks.” before getting up from the table. He considers going to the elevator, but doesn’t want to seem like he’s been hovering and waiting. The recreation room has a refrigerator, a pool table, foosball and a few vintage pinball machines, none of which he can convincingly park himself at and not look completely unnatural.

He doesn’t get a chance to make a decision before he hears the elevator open and he turns to see Sam striding into the room, a brown shopping bag in his hand. “Babe!”

A small grin threatens to break out on Bucky’s face as he quickly walks to gather Sam into his arms. The other man has been experimenting with nicknames for Bucky over the past few months. He quietly confessed that calling him ‘Winter’ sometimes brought up uncomfortable memories. He still did, sometimes, in the quiet of night when they were both kept awake by nightmares and needed to ground one another.

_Bucky. B. Babe. Bae. Blue Steel (Tony’s suggestion)._

Bucky honestly finds it incredibly charming.

He gathers Sam into his arms, only getting a glance at Riley in the elevator as the other man leaves to give them privacy. He doesn’t loveRiley, but Sam adores him and that’s good enough for Bucky. His Sweetheart always comes back with a smile on his face after a few hours with the other man.

“Hey Sweetheart.” Bucky says, pressing his lips to Sam’s cheek before pulling back. “You have a good time?”

“Yeah, we went to the park.” It was one of their go to spots. Sam led him over to the loveseat in the room. “Fed the birds. There was a magic show this time. Watching the kids’ reactions were funnier than the actual tricks.”

Bucky hummed lightly, pulling Sam down half on top of him. After a few hours he figures he can’t be blamed if he needs to a Sweetheart recharge. He has years of missed contact to catch up on after all. He listens to Sam talk about the rest of his day, closing his eyes and resting his head against Sam’s shoulder.

“Oh, and I got you something. Hold on.” Sam nudges Bucky with his elbow a little and then pulls something out of the shopping bag. He holds up a bright blue shirt, emblazoned with a cartoon bust of Steve giving the thumbs up in front of a waving American flag. ‘Captain America!’ is written above the picture in bold letters. It’s absolutely hideous. “Bam.” Sam looks so proud of himself.

“For _me?”_ Bucky asks incredulously, eyes flicking back and forth between the shirt and Sam’s grinning face. His wardrobe effectively is made up of basics in the colors black, gray, dark red and dark green. No logos, no designs - nothing to make him stand out. Sam will pretty much wear anything as long as its a soft blend, including any garish pop culture shirts Riley brings him to try and jog his memory.

“For your date with Steve and Nat tonight.” Sam says it innocently, but theres a glint in his eye that means he’s anything but. Still, he knows that Sam is doing it to try and bring Bucky out of his shell in his own little way. If anyone else has brought this to him, he’d put it in the garbage immediately. “ _Please_. It’ll be night time, no one will even see it.”

Bucky sighs and takes the shirt from Sam and holds it up to his chest. It’s so ugly. And he’ll have to wear a zip-up sweater to hide his arm. But… Sam looks so amused, and he knows it’ll bring a smile to Steve’s face while Natasha none-to-discreetly takes a picture on her phone.

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” Bucky says, putting the shirt over his shoulder so he won’t forget it. He has some time yet before Steve and Nat come by. He sighs and leans back into the loveseat, watching Sam openly. He’s beautiful, and Bucky takes any opportunity he can to trace the lines of his face with his eyes, greedily committing every curve, every eyelash to memory.

He smirks a little as a blush starts to rise under the warm color of Sam’s skin. Bucky’s sure hes the only one who gets Sam this flustered and it might be one of his favorite things. He grins as Sam leans into him, tucking his head underneath Bucky’s chin, decompressing from a long day. Sam put up a strong front for everyone, but he got just as overwhelmed as Bucky did when leaving the Tower. Curling up with Bucky afterwards helps settle his nerves.

They haven’t talked about this thing between them, yet. They are still learning to just be themselves, without trying to define any sort of relationship. Steve had once quietly asked him about it while they were channel surfing. Sam had been in the lab with Tony at the time. Steve had awkwardly stumbled around the question, becoming redder by the second.

_“So are you two? Is he your…. Ah, not that its a bad thing! Really, its great. It’s just you never….”_

It was probably the first time Bucky had actually laughed in front of Steve since they had been reunited. Their relationship strained and awkward. Even when they sat next to one another it had felt like there was a gulf three miles wide between them. But this? Blushing, stumbling, but endearingly sincere Steve?

_“I get it, Steve.” Bucky smirked, but his eyes were soft and wistful. “Don’t know if they’ve got a name for what we are. I just know he’s mine, my Sweetheart.”_

 

**Author's Note:**

> Come talk to me at [ wilsonsnest](http://wilsonsnest.tumblr.com). Be on the look out for a sequel-ish like thing coming soon.
> 
> Comments & Kudos appreciated.


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